


my love will be there still

by troubadour, unearth



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fix-It, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubadour/pseuds/troubadour, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearth/pseuds/unearth
Summary: Mickey’s been waiting for tonight.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 21
Kudos: 264





	my love will be there still

Mickey’s been waiting for tonight.

Not only does he get free drinks all night courtesy of Byron’s rich ass, he gets to leave that stupid fucking too-clean apartment, maybe play some pool, and laugh in Ian’s face. And if that wasn’t good enough for him, Imperial Mammoth—they aren’t half bad. They’re a solid eight on the Mickey scale, they’d _maybe_ even be a nine if Byron hadn’t annoyed the fuck out of him with his constant chattering about their album when he was trying to eat his fancy steak in peace.

Ian showing up with a single shirt as an excuse to see him, voice all weepy, suddenly turning real fucking chipper when he brings up some mystery man that’s made his sorry ass feel like he’s in a fairytale? Yeah. That’s definitely horseshit. Mickey can’t fucking _wait_ to see Ian show up without a date, maybe he’ll even feel bad enough that he finally ditches this off brand, tiny replacement Ian. God knows it’s overdue—he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he has to spend one more night with this joker.

Mickey sighs, leaning against the wall and taking a big swig of his beer, mentally trying to tally how many he’s had so far. The answer? Three. Probably four. He lost count when the people around him started talking about some museum in Europe and he started knocking them back, hoping to god Ian would get there soon.

Byron’s already gotten annoyed with him, running off to some other trust fund asshole when he refused to partake in small talk. Like Mickey gives a shit. Another swig of beer. Another look towards the door. _Jesus Christ_ , does it really take that long to walk on those fucking crutches?

The song playing ends and fades into another one, and when Mickey looks back towards the door—yes, _again_ —he does a double take. _Fuck_ , did he underestimate Ian. The whole story he told on the sidewalk was still horseshit, but he _really_ managed to find someone to play along for a night. Mickey wonders where he found him. Some dating app? Friend from his Gay Jesus days? Fucking Grindr? Definitely fucking Grindr. 

“—Not Uggs, bitch. Okay? I’m not trying to look basic this fall.”

Mickey watches with a delighted grin as the sparkly bleach blonde saunters off towards the bar. He’s moving closer to Ian before he even realizes it, catching his eye when Ian turns back with a grin that matches his own. “The fuck is that?”

Ian faces forward again, and Mickey lets his gaze wander back to the bar, too. “ _That_ is Cole. He’s my date.”

 _Cole_ —which, is _not_ a fucking name if you ask Mickey—is shaking his ass under the _order here_ sign. “Uh huh. What’s he doing?”

“He’s getting us drinks.”

Mickey puts his beer to his lips, knocking back another gulp. When he looks at Ian, he’s staring back at him. Fuck, he looks _good_ in this light, all dressed up and shit. “Shakin’ his ass for the whole bar to see is getting you drinks?”

Ian rolls his eyes and tries to look annoyed, but Mickey sees the way Ian’s gaze lowers to his mouth. Jesus, they’re not together for a few days and Ian’s already about to say fuck it and kiss him right in the middle of this crowd. “Said he’d get ‘em for free that way.”

“Huh,” Mickey hums, and he can’t stop the shit eating grin that he feels taking over his entire face. “Sucks he’s not rich. Byron’s been buying me drinks all night.”

“Oh. _Byron_. Where is he?”

Mickey licks his bottom lip, nods to the right as he raises his eyebrows. “Somewhere. I don’t fuckin’ know. You think I keep up with him? I’m not his keeper.”

“Yeah, I do. Seeing as he’s the love of your life and whatever,” Ian answers coldly, chin jutting out like it always does. Mickey can see that he’s already getting riled up, and it only makes his smile bigger. God, he fucking loves this. “You wanna lead me to him? So I can thank him for getting me and…”

Mickey snorts. “You fuckin’ forget as soon as you start talkin’ to me? _Cole_?”

“ _Cole_ , thank him for getting me and Cole on the list.” Ian blurts out hurriedly while shifting on his crutches, blush rising high on his cheeks. Mickey honestly can’t even say shit—he’s called Byron every B name that he knows. Barry, Bryan, Ben. Last night he called him Billy for some reason.

“Mm,” Mickey steps closer, finishing off his beer. “How about I go over there and tell him for you? And you can get back to your little date.” Before Ian can say anything, try to protest like Mickey knows he will, he walks off. And damn, does it feel good.

When Byron catches his eye, he visibly deflates. He must’ve been having so much fun with his yuppie friends. “Oh. Hi, Mickey, honey.”

“Yeah, whatever. Look, I’m gonna need you to pretend we’re having a great conversation.”

Byron’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Just—fuckin’ laugh. Throw your head back, act like we’re havin’ a good time.” Mickey snaps. He’s only spent a handful of days with this dude and he’s probably the worst person he’s ever known, so sue him for not wanting to pretend anymore.

“Oh,” Byron says slowly, eyes flicking to—what Mickey assumes to be—Ian and back. “ _Oh_. Oh, shit. Okay.” he hesitates for a minute and then puts his hand on Mickey’s chest, tipping his head back and letting out a loud little cackle. Mickey’s thankful his back is to Ian so he won’t see the grimace he’s sporting. “That good?”

“I guess. Do it again.”

Byron opens his mouth, ready to put on a show, but stops when he sees something over Mickey’s shoulder. “Um.”

“Jesus, _what_?” Mickey turns back towards the bar and sucks in a breath of air at the sight of Cole grinding on Ian, while Ian looks awkward as fuck just standing there leaning on his crutches. “Fuck sake.”

Shoving his empty bottle into Byron’s hand, Mickey hastily makes his way back to the bar.

This is so fucking stupid. Why does Ian need to do the jealousy thing too? This whole thing was because of him—because Ian didn’t love him enough to get married, because he backed out in the courthouse. He just wanted to mirror what Ian did way back when, with that old fucking creep Ned. _He isn’t afraid to kiss me_.

“Ian’s such a fucking jackass.”

“O… _Okay_? Another beer?” The bartender asks after a confused start, but she’s already sliding another Blue Moon his way. “On that redhead’s tab?”

“Yeah,” Mickey mutters, knocking back a few gulps. Fucking redheads.

He doesn’t even turn back to look at the stage when he hears the band finally start playing, just stands there like an asshole while he picks at the label on his bottle. He’s _moping_. He’s fucking moping even when this whole thing started because of him and the way he went out and found a random redhead for the night to blow off steam.

Jesus, Ian is the most infuriating, stubborn son of a bitch to ever step foot on earth and Mickey has never loved anyone more in his entire life.

“We’re Imperial Mammoth. We’re gonna take a break, but we’ll be back in ten.”

And, because, _of course_ , Cole appears out of thin air to stand beside him, asking the bartender for _ten more of these bitches_. Mickey wants to laugh when he looks over, takes the time to finally look over his outrageous outfit. His fucking _nipples_ are visible. People can say what they want about Mickey’s choice of clothing, but they suit him just fine, and plus he actually likes to rip the sleeves off of his shirts to match with vests and once again, he’s not showing his fucking _nipples._

Mickey’s about to say something real smart about the outfit, because he honestly can’t hold it in anymore, but all hell seems to break loose behind him as soon as he opens his mouth to speak. There’s the sound of a punch being thrown and bodies hitting the ground, and when Mickey turns back to see what the fuck is going on, he nearly drops the beer he’s holding.

Ian’s crutches are on the ground, _Ian’s_ on the ground, and Byron is underneath him taking fists to the face. Ian’s fucking laying into him, not being stopped by the few people who are trying to break it up. _Figures_ , they’re all scrawny little rich kids.

He really should go over there, pick Ian’s stupid ass off the ground and take him home. He sets his beer down, intending to do so, but feels his insides turn cold when Cole speaks up beside him.

“Look at my man. Don’t take no shit.”

“Calm down.”

Mickey watches as Ian fucking elbows some dude in the face and flinches, gets ready to get over there—

“I’m gonna do gymnastics on that dick tonight. I’m gonna Simone Biles that dick, you know what I’m saying?”

In a second, Mickey punches the dude in the fucking face. He stares down at him for a moment then finally starts to make his way over to the fucking brawl in the middle of the venue. “Hey.”

Ian finally stops when he sees Mickey standing above him, panting heavily and touching his nose to wipe at the blood pooling. When he looks up, meets his eyes, the air feels so fucking electric that it makes Mickey erupt into goosebumps.

There’s a weird kind of tension in the air, an anticipation of what’s gonna happen next. Mickey looks around nervously, wondering if some security guard is gonna come and kick them the fuck out.

“I love you, Mickey Milkovich,” Ian stammers after a few seconds of silence. Mickey feels his stomach drop in realization when he notices how Ian’s down on one knee, even with his busted leg. “More than anything. And—and if you’ll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of my life—”

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey interrupts. There’s so many people around, watching _them_ , and he doesn’t care about that at all—what he does care about is saying yes. And fucking _quickly_. He’s thought a lot about how this moment would go, the only constant being him saying yes, every fucking time. Always. “Save the fucking speech, you pussy.”

Ian’s looking up at him like he hung the moon, red and blue lights from the bar reflecting off his face. He’s so fucking beautiful, in every sense of the word. Sometimes Mickey still can’t believe that someone like Ian looks at him the way he does.

“I’ll marry you,” Mickey says, breaking off into a slight laugh because of his nerves. Ian smiles up at him so brilliantly that it makes more words tumble out, “Of course I’ll fucking marry you.” He steps forward, ready to haul Ian up off the floor, but Ian grunts and stands up by himself, both hands reaching out to gently close around Mickey’s neck.

Mickey melts into the kiss, left hand coming up to softly caress Ian’s jaw before he rests it on the back of his neck, fingers combing through his hair lightly. He’s only vaguely aware of some song playing in the background, of people cheering and whistling, because Ian’s tongue is working his mouth the way he knows Mickey likes and it’s a miracle he’s even standing up on two feet. It’s the best kiss he’s ever had in his life, with his _fiancé_ , and the thought rips out a moan from somewhere in the back of his throat.

Back in the joint, Mickey had said that this wasn’t some romcom movie, that they weren’t like those cliché couples people paid to see while staining their hands with buttered popcorn. But right now, kissing the love of his life, his fiancé, his first love, in front of so many people without a care in the fucking world, he feels like maybe he was wrong. It sure fucking feels like one.

When they finally pull back, short-winded and staring at each other like they’re the only two people in the room, there’s an awkward cough that comes from the stage, amplified by a microphone. “Um. I don’t know what we missed, but congrats to the happy couple? This next one is called _Requiem on Water_.”

The crowd loses interest in them, moving closer to the stage as the band starts back up again. Mickey lets out a breath and snorts, hiding his face in the crook of Ian’s neck. He brings his hand down from Ian’s nape to settle on his chest, a dumb little happy smile on his face. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

After pressing a kiss to the top of Mickey’s head, Ian stumbles back a little, unbalanced without his crutches. Mickey reaches out and steadies him, both hands on his waist. “I, um. I brought these. Just in case.” He reaches into his back pocket and his hand comes back into view with two rings settled in his palm. “Just in case I proposed.”

Mickey just stares at the rings, a little overwhelmed at how they look side by side. “You really thought about doing it tonight?”

“Yeah,” Ian says a little breathlessly, nervous chuckle bubbling from his chest. “I was so fucking—I was just scared. About me, about my disease. It comes up every now and then, plants things in my head that aren’t true. I know you love me, all the versions of me, because I love all the versions of you. And we fucking deserve to be happy, you know? We deserve to have a happy life, after everything that life’s thrown at us.”

Mickey blinks away the tears that are starting to well up in his eyes, clearing his throat of the lump that’s formed. “Ian, you gotta know I love you so fucking _much_. Like you said, the way I feel, it’s—more than _anything_. I’m sorry that I did all this stupid shit—”

“No, no. I get it. Believe me, I understand. I’m sorry, too.”

Mickey looks down at the rings, shining in the colorful lights, then back up at Ian. “So we gonna stand here and continue having a super fucking sappy heart to heart in the middle of a concert or are you gonna slip that fuckin’ ring on me?”

Ian laughs quietly, taking the smaller ring from his palm. “This one’s yours, obviously. It’s tiny.”

“I take it back. My answer’s no, it’s—”

“Oh, get over yourself. Give me your hand.”

Mickey takes his left hand from Ian’s waist and holds it out, spreading his fingers. The last time he wore a wedding ring it felt like it _burned_ , like it weighed him down physically. He hated the sight of it, felt fucking itchy when light reflected from it.

But now, he’s giddy, _bashful_ even, as Ian reaches forward and slides it onto his ring finger: a perfect fit. Mickey wiggles his fingers, feels it out, then looks up at Ian with a smile so big that it feels like his face might fucking break in half. “Holy fuck. Hurry, gimme yours.” he orders after taking the remaining ring from Ian’s palm.

He stares impatiently at Ian’s left hand, willing it to turn over. When it does, he wastes no time sliding the ring onto Ian’s finger, an abrupt rush of air leaving him at the sight of it. “Jesus, Mick. We’re getting _married_.”

Mickey takes Ian’s left hand and presses a kiss to his finger, to the ring, to the freckles on his knuckles. “Fuck yes we are.”

(On their walk home, after screaming the lyrics to _Eyes Without a Face_ , Mickey speaks up after being stuck in his thoughts for a few moments.

“Hey, uh. What else were you gonna say? In your dumbass little speech?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna hear it, tough guy.”

“I just couldn’t fucking wait to say yes.”)

**Author's Note:**

> stan imperial mammoth  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/markofalover)  
> [main ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unearth)


End file.
